Give Me A Reason
by wistfulwatcher
Summary: "Man can starve from a lack of self-realization as much as from a lack of bread." Richard White. Written for glee kink meme: strip club, future!fic, oneshot.


A/N: Written for glee kink meme prompt and cliché_30. The title is from the song "Glory Box" by Portishead. The song was used as inspiration for a part of this fic, and when you read "the music changed," a little after Will and Rachel find each other, I suggest you listen to it; it should sync-up, if I did things right. You can hear it here: .com/watch?v=6ylDDs3mdJE

The crunch of gravel was harsh under Will's sensitive feet as he pulled his leather jacket closer around him. The New York City fall air wasn't cold, but it was cooler than he'd expected, and he was grateful for the hard press of the leather against his neck.

Clad now in tennis shoes, jeans and a t-shirt, he felt much more relaxed than he had a mere hour ago in his tux. He'd been forced to dance with bridesmaid after bridesmaid, when all he'd wanted to do was grab a bottle of champagne (or, preferably, something harder) and head back to his hotel room for his last night in the city.

Hunger had been the only thing that had driven him from that hotel room, once he'd finally been allowed to go back to it, and after a quick change he hit the sidewalk, looking for a burger place he'd been to years ago.

Will slid his hands into his pockets and looked across the street, not seeing the recognizable green door he wanted. With a jolt he realized something was vibrating next to his hand, and he pulled the phone out and up to his ear. "Hello?"

"_Free yet_?" He smiled despite his less than stellar mood and felt his shoulders relax.

"As of twenty minutes ago."

"_Was it everything you imagined your little brother's wedding would be?_" He chuckled and shook his head as he walked.

"And so much more. That's not what I want to talk about and you know it. How was the date?"

There was a low laugh on the other end before, "_It was really nice, actually. I was surprised. I know you don't have the best track record with relationships_." The jibe was good-natured, and Will took it as such, even considering recent events.

"That's great, Shannon! What did you think of him?" Will had left for the wedding on Friday morning, unfortunately missing the Saturday night date.

"_He's not what I expected, based on the stories. Ken's actually really sweet."_ There was a breath, and Will waited, as Shannon tried to phrase her next thought, "_Thank you, Will. Really. I know it hasn't been easy on you since…Emma, but you did a really nice thing for me._"

Will smiled sadly, the disappointment still heavy in his chest. "We both knew it was over—it wasn't like she dumped me as much as we acknowledged we weren't compatible anymore."

Shannon sighed on the other end. "_You're a good guy, Will. Did you at least get any bridesmaids numbers?"_

Grateful for the change in subject, he shook his head to the wind, hunching his shoulders forward at a burst of air around him as a car breezed past. "Not exactly. I just wasn't in the mood. My little brother gets married a week after my third relationship fails. I would have bummed them out." He laughed, but he knew it sounded hallow, would even through the phone.

"Y_ou gotta have some fun, buddy. You even said it wasn't working for a long time. I'm not saying you should jump into anything, but go have some fun tonight. I took a chance listening to you with Ken, and that turned out pretty good."_

Will didn't want to admit it, but Shannon's suggestion was sounding like a good one. He hadn't really had a night out in a long time, but he was also alone—no buddies to take him anywhere. Then again, his "buddies" pretty much amounted to the woman on the phone with him.

"I'll think about it. You gonna see Ken again?"

"_Tuesday night, actually. We're going bowling._" Will smiled, truly happy for his surprisingly shy friend.

"That's great, Shannon."

"_Now get off the phone with me, and go find some fun for yourself. You're in New York City, try something new!"_

They exchanged farewells, and Will slid his phone back into his front pocket. He appreciated what Shannon was saying, but "new" wasn't really him, he realized with a humorless chuckle as he looked for the familiar green door.

Now two blocks from his hotel, he started looking at the other stores and restaurants on the way, thinking that a few of them actually looked good. Still, he figured it would be easier to just get the burger he'd thought about originally, rather than try to decide on a new place.

Rounding the corner, Will caught a neon light out of the corner of his eye. It wasn't extremely dark outside, yet, but the dim light remaining provided a stark contrast from the pink neon that was flashing. With a tiny blush, Will took in the strip club before him, noting with embarrassment the proclamation of nude girls spanning the darkened window.

Will turned back to the sidewalk and headed in the direction of the burger place, his stomach grumbling. As the door came into sight, he felt a wave of relief, both that it was still there, and that his appetite would be sated.

As he opened the door, he caught the neon light in his peripheral vision, before ducking under the door frame. The restaurant was just as he'd remembered it, the small diner feel and the smell of grease. As he ordered he was practically salivating, anticipating the juicy burger.

The waiter left, and Will was grateful that the place was so small, so his food shouldn't take very long. He thought about Shannon's advice as he waited; do something new and fun. He was frustrated with himself, that he was in New York City, and those words drummed up no ideas. The idea was a little appealing, he had to admit—he honestly could not remember the last time he had a fun night out.

Will glanced over at a couple in a small booth near the door. _Make that a fun night, period_, he thought. His relationship with Emma had been a lot of things; exciting, anticipated, but, mostly, it had felt like a victory. It had taken time, of course—Emma was not the type of woman to enter a relationship lightly. But Will had been patient when she divorced Carl after their first Regionals win. He had started by renewing their friendship, and let it grow naturally from there. By Christmas in 2011 they were officially dating, though that, too, was a slow process.

Back then Will had figured Emma didn't trust him like she had in the beginning—he had, after all, made out with another woman. But now, looking back, he was more convinced than ever that Emma wasn't sure what she wanted. That she hadn't been happy with Carl for the same reason that she hadn't really been happy with him. That maybe, she was as messed up as he was.

He wasn't an idiot, of course—he knew when their relationship started to fall apart. His glee kids graduating had been hard on him, more so than he thought it would have been. Over his first three years with glee, he realized they had all become a family, and had helped each other through all of the big changes (even his, as he recalled some very sweet and unorthodox Emma pep-talks from the glee guys).

Their win at nationals had been the cherry on top of it all. Three years in an uphill battle, but they finally won that plaque for him—their words, not his. He'd cried, not manly, a few tears that didn't fall, but big, wet tears that left him red and splotchy in front of fourteen of the people he cared most about in the world.

His burger arrived, and Will blinked, chalking the tears up to the fresh smell of onions. He thanked the waiter and turned to his hamburger, the anticipation mounting. As he took his first bite, he thought about that sense of victory he'd felt with Emma, with glee. That feeling of accomplishment of getting something right, of _fitting_ somewhere.

The feeling he hadn't felt for a while with Emma (years, if he was being totally honest). He bit into the burger and cursed the onions as his eyes watered again. He chewed slowly, really trying to savor the taste, the sense of victory.

It never came. Surprisingly, Will's burger was not up to his expectations. That victory he'd been so close to now tasted like charred meat and unripened tomato. He finished him meal, his stomach not needing the same amount of satisfaction as his taste buds, apparently, before he paid the bill and stepped back into the cool city air.

He walked slower now, his shoulders heavy in his thought. Will rounded the corner, again coming to face the gaudy neon of the strip club signs. He couldn't help but snort when he realized he would've been better off trying a new restaurant and retaining his memory of that delicious burger.

"Try something new," he grumbled, drawing closer to the bright building. _A strip club is something new,_ he joked to himself.

Will paused. He'd never been inside a strip club in his life. He'd been married to Terri so long, and then he'd had no male friends left after the divorce (Howard would never have the balls to side with anyone other than his boss, Phil was his ex-wife's brother-in-law, things had been awkward with Ken since Emma left him, Henri had been in and out of rehab so many time he lost count, and Sandy was—well, Sandy). Will's students were pretty much the only guys still in his life, and a strip club wasn't exactly an appropriate field trip destination.

Of their own accord, Will's feet moved closer to the door of the club, until Will could read the flyers papering the inside of the window. Through the gaps in the paper he could see flashing lights and movement. With a long moment of hesitation, Will began walking to the door. Looking around, he pulled on the handle, and was immediately assaulted by heavy bass beats, a smell of stale liquor, and a sudden feel of grime on his skin.

However, Will had to admit that there was something compelling about this atmosphere. It felt dirty, like Terri told him it would, back when they'd been young, but it also felt—fitting. He felt kind of grimy, after the disappointment of the burger and reflecting on his pathetic life, and being around that made him feel less out-of-place and alone.

When a bouncer at the entrance nodded at him and grunted a number, Will froze. After a beat he realized it was the cost of admission he was after, and, embarrassed, Will pulled out his wallet, handing the man a bill. He nodded back at the man and moved further into the club, taking in the dim lights and the smoky air. He walked slowly, giving himself a chance to back out, but he told himself he was doing what he was supposed to, following Shannon's advice; _fun and new_.

Will turned to the bouncer quickly, and asked, "Um, where can I get some change?" The bouncer gestured to the bartender, and Will gave a half-smile, as the realization he was _in a strip club_ started to break through.

It may have felt fitting to be in there, but Will realized it didn't feel good. He felt sad and defeated, and that was exactly how he didn't want to feel. He neared the bartender, and reached for his pocket, before stopping.

"What am I doing?" was mumbled as he turned to go right back out of the door. If Shannon asked, he technically went into a new place, so he did follow her instructions. Feet from the door, Will heard a booming voice shout.

"And now, one of our newest dancers, Liza!" Will couldn't help but turn his head slightly at that, chuckling as he thought about the days when he'd had a diva (too many, actually) in glee. Will turned more as "Liza" came out, wobbling slightly in her heels as she reached desperately for the pole in front of her. Still, he noted, she somehow seemed poised and graceful.

Taking a step toward the stage, Will noted that she was very fit, trim, and that her skin was a gorgeous olive color. Surprising, then, that her hair was a pale blonde, a stark contrast to her skin tone. Her face was obscured by the bangs across her forehead, a shade too long for him to see her eyes when she turned to the side. Her lips, however, he could somewhat see. He moved into the room more, toward the stage, and stood behind one of the back tables.

The club was small, so even though he hadn't moved much, he was now only ten or fifteen feet from the stage. From here, he could really see her lips, her mouth; her teeth were perfect, white and straight, and her lips were gorgeous and full.

As she moved on the stage, he couldn't help but notice her legs—long, aided by the heels, but he doubted she could be taller than 5' 3". He smiled lightly as she turned, and he realized her costume was supposed to be an allusion to Britney Spears—white button up revealing a lacy red bra, tied underneath her breasts, and a short (the shortest he'd ever seen, despite a glee club filled with Rachel and three Cheerios) red plaid skirt that fell just below her ass. She spun on the pole under her hands, and he could see the thinnest string across the top of her ass, baring her cheeks as she wore a matching red thong.

Will gulped, taken aback at her revealing attire. Apparently he had not fully processed what he would be seeing in a strip club, and as he realized he was watching some woman dance in a room full of lonely, unhappy single men, he leaned back against a wall, as a feeling of shame rushed over him.

And yet, Will couldn't stop watching her. She was exquisite; graceful and coordinated beneath the tentative exterior that caused to her stumble in her high, high heels. The announcer had introduced her as new, and Will figured this must have been one of her first days on the job. She wrapped a toned thigh around the pole and spun, her head leaning back as she lowered herself to the floor, and Will felt a stab of guilt that she'd be new at this job for a reason—likely a very sad reason.

Despite this knowledge, he felt blood rush from his head as the young woman on stage ran her hands over her breasts, before pulling the white shirt off, and tossing it to a man in front of the stage. From this distance he could see the smile she gave him, and the way it wavered immediately, as if it was killing her to do.

He ran a hand over his face, then, and scanned the audience, to find nothing but glazed over eyes, parted mouths and open leers. A man bumped into him with a grunt and he moved over, closer to the stage to get out of the way of the burly man.

Now just eight or so feet from the stage, Will could see her better than ever. She was even more gorgeous up close; she looked to be all smooth curves and soft skin. As she walked slowly to the pole, she arched her back and rolled her hips forward, pulling herself to press against the metal. Will sucked in a breath and leaned forward slightly, watching as the dancer lifted her head up, shaking her hair back so he could finally see her eyes.

Will's gasp was audible, and several men around him looked up, giving him puzzled looks. He cleared his throat, looking away as he tried to play it off, but when he looked back, she was stepping down from the stage and walking toward him.

Will panicked, turning around to leave, run out of the door and back to his hotel, where he could call Shannon, tell her she was wrong, and just live in his rut for the rest of his life. But the same burly man was standing behind him, now, between two tables, and Will couldn't slide past him. He swallowed nervously, and turned back, hoping he could round the table before she got to him.

He tightened his stomach on reflex when he turned to find her in front of him, taking a serving tray from one of the other girls. As she rested it on her hip, she flipped a piece of hair out of her face, and caught sight of him.

Will had nowhere to run as she looked up at him from under her bangs. "Mr. Schuester?" She was as surprised as he was that they were standing together in a _strip club_. She shifted uncomfortably before him, and he couldn't blame her; this was not a pleasant situation for either of them.

"Rachel, I—" he wasn't sure what excuse he thought he could give, how he could explain his presence here, other than the truth that he was lonely, just looking for something to do, and he definitely did not want to tell her that. Fortunately he was spared as another man walked up to them.

He was clearly intoxicated, if the sway in his step and empty glass were any indication. The man was leering at the young woman between them, and Will felt his skin crawl. Judging from Rachel's face, hers was, too. She gave the man a stage smile, like the clearly fake one he'd seen on her face earlier. As he pulled out his wallet, Will watched Rachel's face, his mouth tightening as her eyes widened almost imperceptibly. Her smile wavered, and he saw her stand up straighter, her back tightening as she slid the tray to her stomach, gripping the edges with both hands as she turned it to lay flat against her skin, effectively covering herself.

Will couldn't tear his eyes away from his former student as he took in the signs of fear and reluctance she displayed toward the skeezy man. He listened as the man pushed the bills toward Rachel, mumbling something about a dance.

Rachel was licking her lips and glancing at Will out of the corner of her eye as she stalled, trying not to answer the man. "Paul, I thought you'd be looking for Amber, tonight?" She tried to offer him another smile, but this was the least convincing one he'd ever seen from her.

He realized, as she shifted in her heels, that the man—_Paul_—she'd called him—was a none-too-friendly regular, asking for a dance. From Rachel. A_ private_ dance, if he had heard him correctly.

She tucked her hair behind her ear, and Will saw the familiar mole on her cheek, the one he'd seen a hundred times before. Before he knew what he was saying, Will spoke quickly, "She can't. She already—um, I already bought the next one." Rachel looked to him quickly, a mixture of gratitude and hope on her face, but something else, too.

Paul narrowed his eyes at Will, and he wasn't sure if he was so drunk he couldn't see, or he was dumb enough to try to start something in the club. Either way, Will gulped as the man rolled his shoulders and held up his money. "I didn't see you pay her," he scoffed.

Will glanced at the money, pointedly avoiding looking at Rachel as he reached into his own pocket and withdrew the same amount. Finally looking up at her, he felt his heart pounding as his eyes softened, hoping this was what she wanted, hoping he was helping her.

Rachel gave him a twist of her lips, more of a smile than he'd seen from her so far, and took the money, avoiding touching his hand, before she turned to Paul and bit her lip. "I did talk to him first. Amber should be onstage any minute, though." The man huffed, turning away as he shoved his hands into his pockets.

When Rachel turned back to him, Will swallowed harshly. "Rachel, I'm sorry, I—" She was looking over his shoulder, smiling suddenly and taking his hand in hers as she set the tray on a table. He tried to ignore the soft skin under his fingers as she led him slowly to a chair off to the side of the club. It was darker over here, but not less public than the rest of the club, really.

Rachel flipped her hair over her shoulder as she glanced to the bar, and then looked at him. She looked exactly as she had three years ago, when he'd seen her for the last time at graduation, except for the completely out of place hair color.

She led him, silently, to sit in the chair, taking the cash he'd given her and sliding it into her bra. He coughed, then, extremely uncomfortable as he realized how few clothes she was wearing. Will shifted in the plush chair, resting his forearms on the arms of the chair, and pushing himself back, as if trying to get away from her, which, if he were being honest, he still kind of was.

Rachel glanced at the bar again, before leaning over, resting her hand on the arm of the chair by his forearm. Her face was inches from him, and he could smell the sweet mint on her breath he'd become so accustomed to over the years. "Thank you, Mr. Schue. I, um, I'm going to give you your money back, but I'm going to have to—" she worried her lip between her teeth, before finishing, "dance."

He followed her gaze once more to the bar, where a man in a suit sat, and he realized he was watching them. Will shifted, and shook his head. "Rachel, I was just—I don't want you to—" She looked down, guiltily, and shook her head.

"I know, I'm sorry, and I appreciate it. But my boss is at the bar, and I really need this job. After last night, I can't turn down a…" she hesitated again, and leaned away from him, before stepping back, "customer."

Shifting, Will asked, "Isn't this usually done in a private room, where they can't see us?"

Rachel shook her head, her hands resting against her thighs. "Those rooms cost an extra $200."

Before Will could say anything more, the music changed, and Rachel started swaying in front of him. He turned to look at Rachel's boss, then quickly back at the woman in front of him. Her legs were placed shoulder-width apart as she balanced in the heels, her hips swaying in time with the music. She stepped closer to him, avoiding his face as she started to untie the white shirt she'd put back on after her stage performance.

Sliding it from her shoulders, she dropped it at his feet, continuing to sway as she ran her hands down her sides and over her flat stomach. Inhaling quickly, Will watched as she slid her hands to the side of her skirt, and unclasped it, dropping it on top of the shirt.

He noticed, suddenly, how stuffy and hot it was in the club, and he regretted not taking off his jacket earlier. He knew his face was red, from heat and embarrassment (and maybe something more, as Rachel started to roll her hips in front of him), and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

Down to her bra and thong, Rachel leaned over again, not meeting his eyes as she placed a hand on either knee, and lowered herself to the floor in front of him. Despite the guilt, the frustration, and the anger that they'd both ended up in this situation, blood rushed to Will's crotch, and he felt himself start to swell beneath his heavy jeans.

He tried to focus on the song, focus on the lyrics as they permeated the haze in his head. _I've been a temptress too long_, he inwardly groaned as the image of years of short skirts and knee high socks played behind his eyes.

It was wrong, and he felt worse than the creep he'd been trying to save her from. He clenched his jaw as he realized she'd probably been better off in his hands, rather than having to subject herself to her teacher. _Former teacher_, a small voice rang in his head, but he blinked, his hands clenching until it went away.

Rachel's hands on his knees applied pressure as she pushed his legs apart. He tried to question her, but she looked up at him, and shook her head, mouthing, "_please?" _before she continued, pushing until his thighs pressed against the hard frame of the chair. Rachel slid her hands up his thighs, ignoring his gasp as she reached behind his hips, applying pressure and dragging him forward, toward the edge of the chair.

If he hadn't been overheating from the temperature of the club, Will was certain that he'd have been impressed with her strength. Instead, he just let his head drop the inch to the back of the chair, and looked up at her. Her eyes were focused on his chest as she reached under his jacket, glancing up at him quickly before flicking the sides open, letting some cooler air hit his neck and upper chest, exposed by the V of the t-shirt.

Rachel slid back down, before stepping back up, turning her back to him. Will took the moment out of her view to close his own eyes, running a hand over his face as the blood continued to his cock. He could feel the pressure beneath his belt, and prayed that Rachel wouldn't turn back around. That she would just leave him, and not realize what a terrible man he was being, turned on by his _student_. The voice echoed _former student_, and again he ran a hand over his face, pressing against his eyes, willing to no longer see. When he opened his eyes, of course, his sight was fine, and before she began to turn around, Will couldn't help but take in the sight of her; firm thighs, full ass framed by red lace, and the gentle curve of her spine. Will felt his fingers twitch with a sudden and wholly unwelcome urge to trace the line of her back.

Rachel turned around, then, and Will tried to catch her eyes, to apologize, but she still focused on his chest. She stood before him, swaying and sliding her hands up her body slowly, from her thighs, past her hips, to rest on her chest. She cupped her breasts in her hands, crossing her arms over her chest as she dipped her head down, toward him, her hair falling around her, blocking her face completely.

She rolled back up, her hands running over her neck, lifting her hair back before she placed her hands on his thighs, her nails gripping in on his right leg. Rachel slid her body up his slowly, not brushing their chests, though he realized if he made the slightest move they would be pressed completely together.

The pressure in his jeans was becoming painful, and his hands twitched in a need to ease the pressure. The thought was frustrating, and he cursed himself for what he was feeling, that he was _enjoying_ his student on top of him.

Her face neared his and he closed his eyes, terrified that now would be the moment she'd look at him. Instead, her lips ghosted over his ear and she whispered, "My left hand," before she turned, her back to him, and rested herself on top of him, her thighs on his, her legs spread to match. Her head rested against his neck, and he couldn't stop himself from turning into her, his nose pressing against her cheek quickly.

He let out a harsh breath as she lifted herself off of him gently, the action causing her ass to press against the cock straining beneath his jeans. The moan that fell from his lips was completely unintentional, but before he could apologize, Rachel ground her hips down, a soft groan coming from her own mouth.

Rachel's instructions drifted back into his head, and he reached for her left hand with his, where it rested on her hip. He wasn't sure what she wanted, but as she slid their bodies together, he covered her hand with his, lacing his fingers between hers and drawing her hand to rest on her stomach.

A sharp edge pressed against his fingertips, and he realized his money was in her hand, that she was trying to give it back. With a start he remembered what he was doing, the haze surrounding his brain dissipating as he uncurled his fingers from hers, and tried to sink into the chair, keep his obvious erection away from the soft press of her ass.

Rachel rolled her head to the side, looking up at him through her lashes, and he realized how young she still looked. Her lips were parted gently, and she furrowed her brows gently, questioning him. She closed her eyes again, and leaned forward, putting her hands between their legs on the chair. She slowly lifted off of him, and he noticed a roll in her hips as her lower back came into his sight line.

His fingers again itched to trace her skin, but he was saved by the slow fade out of the music. Rachel continued to stand up, her hips swaying as she turned around to face him.

She was still avoiding his eyes, but she looked higher on his chest, rolling her lips together and shifting awkwardly. Will was very conscious of the strained material across his erection, and the same heat flooded his face in shame.

Will was searching for what to say, how to apologize, until he was interrupted by _Paul_. He was standing next to Rachel, and if the last of his blood wasn't rushing through his ears, he was certain he would hear a repeat of the earlier conversation.

Rachel was shifting again, but this time he could save her, from Paul and from himself. Standing up quickly, Will pulled out his wallet, taking out two hundreds and effectively cutting off the other man. "I actually just bought a private room, so Ra—Liza won't be available anymore tonight."

Rachel turned to look at him, but he didn't want to risk the betrayal he would see on her face. He instead kept his eyes trained on Paul until he felt soft fingers brush his hand and take the money. "Um, I'm sorry Paul. Maybe next time?" and her hand was in his again, small and soft, and he realized just how fragile she was, how fragile she'd always been.

The club wasn't big, but as she led him across the way, he noticed the wobble in her steps, the way her ankle almost bent when they passed a chair pushed out too far. He wanted to tell her to slow down, that he wasn't going to touch her again, but he wasn't sure how to get her attention without touching her, so he just gave her hand a gentle squeeze and prayed she would get the message.

They moved past the stage and to a small room with an open door. She led him into it, and closed the door, dropping his hand immediately. He was shocked at the sense of loss he felt as the cold air hit his heated palm.

She locked the door and turned around, finally looking him in the eye. Her eyes were wet, and it felt like she'd sunk a knife into his heart. "Rachel, I—"

"I can't afford to lose $200, Mr. Schue, I can't." He furrowed his brow, confused.

"What?"

She looked up at him, and he cursed those bangs, covering her eyes slightly as he tried to understand what exactly he'd done. "The two hundred for this room—I can't give you the money back, I'm sorry. You shouldn't have helped me." She was pacing as she said it, and he looked quickly at those heels, terrified that she was going to break her ankle.

"Rachel, Rachel, don't worry about it, OK." He wasn't sure how to start to explain himself during her dance, or where to start to apologize.

"I can give you this back," she handed him the money from the lap dance, but he shook his head.

"Rachel, really, I don't care about the money, I just—" She started to wobble on those damn heels and she was still pacing. "Rachel," she wasn't listening, and he didn't want to do it, but he reached out and set his hands on her shoulders.

Finally she stopped, and looked him in the eye. Her eyes were a little red, but she wasn't hesitant under his touch—actually, he swore he felt her lean into it as she shook her head. He wondered if by some miracle she may have missed his reaction during her dance. "Rachel, please stop pacing, I'm not, I don't want you to do anything, I promise."

The look she gave him was confusing; a furrowed brow as she bit her lip, and looked up at him from under those damn bangs. "What? I know you don't want—I just, I hate that I needed you to…" his hands were still resting on her shoulders, but she slowly stepped back, away from him and wrapped her arms across her waist. "To save me."

Will still wasn't sure how to start with her, so he looked around the room. There was a plush couch in the middle of the room, and another chair like the ones in the main lounge. There was also a small coffee table between the furniture, and a small refrigerator against the wall. The room felt much cleaner than the main lounge had, but he suspected that was an assumption that would prove false, based on his understanding of a _private _room.

Rachel was still standing with her back to him, and he suddenly wondered how long exactly she'd been here, how she'd gotten here, _why_ she'd ended up in a place like this. He had so many questions, that finally one bubbled free: "How long do we have, Rach?"

He cursed the words that fell from his lips—the bluntness, the implication it carried, even the easy use of the nickname from so many years ago. She turned to him, but didn't seem to be bothered by his question the way he had been, just walked over toward him. "An hour. But my shift ends in two, so Paul'll probably be gone for the last hour."

The fire that shot up Will's back at the thought of her dancing for another hour was forceful and unexpected, causing him to lean against the back of the chair. Bent slightly, Will again noticed the heels on her feet, and caught her swaying. "Uh, Rachel?"

"Yes, Mr. Schue?" He swallowed harshly, his formal title leaving a bad taste in his mouth.

"Could you take the heels off—I'm really nervous you're going to break your ankle or something." He realized that was probably the least of her worries, but she gave him a small smile and took a seat on the couch, starting to untie the black pumps that laced up her calf.

While she worked, Will noticed she must have left the shirt and skirt in the lounge and he blushed at the amount of skin on display, finding it a little worrisome that she cared so little. When she was done, she started to massage her feet, and another question fell from his lips. "How long have you been working?"

She shrugged her shoulders and switched feet, before tucking them underneath herself and leaning on the corner of the couch. "Only a few hours. It was a short shift tonight. This is nothing after all of the years of ballet."

He brought his hand up to the back of his neck, rubbing as he averted his eyes from hers. "No, I mean how long have you been working here, as…"

"A stripper?" She scoffed, and he felt worse than he had earlier. "A week in a half." Her words stung him, and his stomach clenched. He went to sit at the other end of the couch, and realized that he was still wearing his jacket. Slipping it quickly from his shoulders, he offered it to Rachel, who took it reluctantly. "Thanks, Mr. Schuester."

He couldn't help but watch as she put it on, the sleeves too long on her small frame, but it covered her from his gaze, at least. "Can you call me Will? It's just—"

"It's weird? Tell me about it." That guilt was starting to eat him away, and he still had no idea how to assuage it.

He sat with her in silence for a moment, thinking about the last time he had seen her, bright eyed as she gave her Valedictorian speech at graduation. Her brown hair curled sweetly underneath her graduation cap, and her smile providing better light than the bright sun outside.

He had no way to broach the subject of her dancing for him, how to start to speak to that smiling graduate, so he closed his eyes tight and asked, "You dyed your hair?" It was lame, and he felt like an idiot.

She shook her head, reaching to the top and pulling it up, her brown tresses falling down in a ponytail. "It's a wig," she muttered, as she shook her hair out, the thick locks a welcome familiarity.

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, and he thought she was having the same issue, not sure how to bring up what just happened. "So, Liza? I would've thought—"

"Barbra?" She laughed quietly, nothing of the boisterous sound he was used to from her. "I felt like it would be wrong, like I was using her, or something." He gave her a small smile and waited for her to continue. "I wanted to go with Sally, as in Bowles, but we already have a Sally," she shrugged her shoulders, "of the Mustang variety, so I went with the next name I could think of."

He nodded, not quite sure how to follow up on her admission, the sense of urgency her words implied in her taking this job. As he sat there, he could feel Rachel's eyes on him, and he waited for her question, for her to ask him why he was there, why he had bought a lap dance from her, why he had put her in such an awkward position. Nothing came, and he faced forward, realizing that maybe she knew there was no reasonable explanation, that he was just as much of a sleeze as her other _customers_. "Thank you, Mr. Sc—Will."

He turned to face her, his eyes wide, not expecting that to break the silence. She shook her head, her hair shining in the light the way he'd remembered it. "I mean it. I can't stand him touching me, and I couldn't turn him down. I'm sorry you had to, but thank you for saving me." She looked down, a small smile on her face, "You've always gone above and beyond for us."

He wasn't sure how to respond to her, so he instead asked the question he needed to. "Rachel, what happened?" She was playing with the cuff of his jacket, and he wanted to reach out and take her hand, but he remembered how he promised not to touch her. He realized though, that he could—the couch was small, perhaps a loveseat, and with his body turned, he could rest his hand on hers in an instant.

"What was the last thing you heard?"

"That you were going to NYU Tisch School, and auditioning at every opportunity. That your roommate had been a nightmare, and refused to let you sing in the room. I heard that you were cast in a one-act near campus." Rachel was watching him now, and he shifted under her scrutiny. He thought about everything he'd said, and the fact that maybe it wasn't normal for him to know all that.

"Wow."

He cleared his throat, pulling at his shirt. "I ran into your dads at the store a few times." It made sense, really. It was a perfectly acceptable way to hear about your students. Surely her other teachers would've asked the same questions of their Valedictorian.

"That's really sweet of you, Will. To ask, I mean." His name on her lips felt nice to his ears, musical like everything else she did, but lacking the condescension he usually heard in his last name. She took a deep breath and shifted, his jacket falling more open, revealing the remains of her costume to him again. Without warning he felt a familiar surge in his groin, and he had to focus on her words to distract him from the feeling of failure it caused in him.

"During my sophomore year, I started going to more and more auditions, even getting a few good parts. But there were a lot of other girls at NYU I was competing with for these roles, and, though I love my nose, it seems it was a little off-putting to some of the directors." Her voice was sad, and he didn't blame her. He remembered the stories he'd heard about Montana or Oregon or whatever his name had been, and how she'd stood her ground for herself and her gleemates.

"Anyway, a few months ago there was this call for a really great part in a new musical off-Broadway, but the auditions were being held smack-dab in the middle of midterms. None of the girls I was competing with were going to be going, but I'd have to miss my midterms, too."

Will felt queasy as he realized where this was going—what happened to his former star. "I took a chance. I figured it worked for almost every other star, doing that thing, making that stupid choice to get cast." She sighed, but he noticed her eyes were dry, and he wondered, sadly, if she'd finally cried herself out. "I missed all of my midterms because of callbacks, and hadn't been able to catch-up. I had to drop my classes, or completely fail them, both of which meant the termination of my scholarship."

"Oh, Rachel," he reached his hand out before he realized, but gave a sigh of relief when she took it between hers, resting his sandwiched hand on her thigh. "But why here? There had to be other options."

She shook her head. "I tried. I applied _everywhere_, but they've all hired their seasonal staff by this point in November. I had a few waitressing jobs, but nothing stuck. One of my former co-workers is the one who told me about this place."

Will squeezed her hand, his other hand coming to rest on her cheek, stroking her hair back from her face. "Have you talked to your dads about this?" She laughed, low and humorless, and he felt guilty for bringing it up.

"They told me not to audition—that I needed to focus on school." Her eyes shifted on his face, landing on his lips, and he tried not to notice the jolt that ran up his spine. "I didn't listen to them." Her eyes were welling, and this time they started to fall.

Before he could respond she was hugging him, her arms thrown around his neck as she buried her face in his chest, her back shaking with her sobs as her legs tucked under her, again. He froze, unsure where put her hands, until finally he rested one on her upper back, the other on her lower back over the jacket. He murmured platitudes, leaning down to press his lips against her head as the hand on her upper back moved up to stroke her hair.

"Rachel, I—I'm sure your dads will help you if you just ask." She shook her head against his chest.

"I told them I could handle the repercussions—I swore that I would get cast." Her stubbornness, the fear she had of telling her parents she was wrong was so juvenile, and he thought about how, for all of her maturity and strength, she was just a kid in a lot of ways.

She sighed against him, and he listened as she struggled to get herself under control. "I'm keeping an eye out for something new."

He gave her hair one last stroke as she pulled away. Looking up at him from under her lashes, she smiled shyly. "I'm sorry for everything." He shook his head, his guilt over his reaction to her dance still plaguing him.

She pulled his coat tighter around herself and murmured, "I wouldn't be wearing this jacket if I didn't have to, you know. I'm still a vegan."

He nodded, giving her a little smile and murmuring back, "I know."

She looked up at him, ignoring the leather, and finally asked, "Why are you in—" this was it, her asking why he was in a strip club, why he was as sleazy as the next guy, why he couldn't just be a teacher she could trust—"New York?"

He smiled, relief bubbling over. "My little brother got married today. I was his best man."

She laughed, and it warmed his heart. "Of course you were. Did you have fun?" The question was innocent enough, but at once he was flooded with Shannon's advice. Clearing his throat, he nodded slightly.

"It was, it was nice."

"Ms. Pillsbury didn't come with you?" Her eyes were wide, innocent, and he cleared his throat.

"No. No, Emma and I broke up last week."

"I'm sorry, Will." He realized then how many times she'd said his name, and wondered if she'd said it that much when she called him Mr. Schue. He watched her as she watched him, trying to voice her next question. "And glee?" she finally ended on.

Glee. Just the mention of it shouldn't leave the air around them thick with tension. His answer was as terse as her question, and she nodded at the, "It's fine." He could tell she wanted to know more, and because she'd given him so much earlier, he added, "It's different. It's not what it was."

"So full of talent?" She smiled.

He smiled back, sadly. "A family."

Rachel looked at him softly, the same mixed emotions in her eyes as in his. "Do you miss us?"

He intended to craft an eloquent response, waxing about them being the best students a teacher could ever ask for, but instead he heard himself say, "Every damn day. I think, I think I'm a little lost without you all."

Rachel took his hand, then, and ran her thumb lightly over his knuckles. "We miss you, too. I mean I do. But I know they do, too." She was staring at his wrist, still, and it was starting to unnerve him, how much she was touching him.

As soon as he thought it she dropped his hand, and he wished he could take it back. Rachel leaned forward, grabbing her heels and started to slip them on. "What are you doing?"

He could tell it pained her to say, "Your—the hour is up. Thank you for the stay of execution," laced up one shoe and started on the other.

"Please—I don't want you to do this." His words were bordering inappropriate, but he was just telling her the truth. Before she could respond, he pulled out his wallet again.

As he thumbed through the cash to pull out the money, she put her hands on his, pushing the wallet down. Her eyes were soft when he looked up at her. "You can't buy my hours forever, Will. As sweet as that is. Save your money, OK? Please."

There was a lump in his throat as she reached for the wig, and he realized how badly he wanted to buy those hours, how much he wanted to keep her safe. "I don't have to. I'm driving back to Lima tomorrow morning. I can take you back, too." He felt like he was begging her, and it felt wrong, felt like an admission of something, but it also felt like his duty.

She abandoned the wig on the chair, and wrapped her arms around her waist. Hugging herself quickly, she shook her head and pulled his jacket form her shoulders. Handing it back to him, she stood, and dropped the jacket to the floor. He watched the indecision play out on her face, and he took the money out of his wallet, setting it on the table. It looked crude to him, looked too much like a heartbreaking Lifetime movie, but he turned to her before she could tell him no again.

He knew he looked desperate as he reached a hand out to her, but he knew the fear in his eyes was worth it when she sighed and sat back down next to him. "Rach, Chicago is a lot closer than New York, you know. You could get some experience there, maybe build up some name recognition." She looked at him with slightly narrowed eyes, not responding.

It was making him uncomfortable, if he was honest. She was looking at him like she knew something, maybe even something he didn't. Before he could continue, there was a knock on the door. Without waiting for an answer, another big guy, perhaps a second bouncer, walked in. Will looked to Rachel, watching her reaction to the man, and saw her take the two hundred out of her bra and hand it to him.

The bouncer turned back to him and tapped his watch. "Times up, buddy."

Will shook his head and handed him the money he'd pulled out. "Another hour?" It felt wrong to ask another man, this man, to spend more time with Rachel, especially in such a crude time increment.

The bouncer looked at Rachel incredulously, and then back at Will. "It's three for the second hour." He watched as Rachel looked away, a blush rising on her cheeks.

"Fine," he dug out the extra and handed it to the bouncer. "Now if you'll please leave us." Will was growing frustrated with the man, and the way Rachel immediately shut down around him. He'd never seen the strong woman next to him back down from anyone, and it was more than concerning to see her do so to someone so beneath her.

The bouncer left, and he put his wallet away, not wanting to insult her further. "Rachel? I'm sorry—"

"Why do you care so much?" Her head was cocked a little to the side as she asked, her fingers interlacing with each other.

Will had no idea how to answer her question. Honestly, he wasn't sure why he cared so much. Perhaps it was because she'd been his student, because he didn't want to see someone he'd been so close to hurting, because the thought of some other guy, a guy like _Paul,_ touching her made his skin crawl.

"Because—"

"I knew I hadn't imagined that night." Will stopped mid-sentence, confused.

"What night?"

"Nationals." Will sucked in a breath, realizing what she was talking about. How he'd hoped she'd forgotten that night—so much had happened, he'd honestly believed she might have. "After we lost our junior year, in the guys' hotel room."

Will moved to take off his jacket, cool down, until he remembered he had—that the heat he was feeling was coming from the memory, the shame, the embarrassment, the woman in front of him. "You remember, don't you." It wasn't a question, and in a way he was grateful that she didn't expect an answer.

He wasn't quite sure of his options, so he decided to play it dumb until he knew for sure what she was talking about. "The fight over Quinn? When Finn and Sam broke that lamp?" He was smiling, a smile to match her stage presence, but he could tell she had him.

She nodded, pulling her knees to her chest. "And what happened right before that." The heat in the room was going to kill him as he remembered that night; how he'd found her in the room adjoining the party, sitting on the bed in a position similar to the one she held now (though she'd had more clothes on, fortunately). He swallowed, rubbing his hand over his face as he thought about how she'd cried, confessed that her song hadn't been good enough, that she'd never be good enough.

He'd known, even then, that she'd been talking about Finn and not her song, or at least not completely about the song. And he had held her then, as he'd held her tonight, with the same reluctance to put his hands on her, and the same urge to stroke her skin.

She was watching him now, but he couldn't face her, not with the memory of him cupping her cheek, stroking the soft skin there, and wanting so badly to make it better. It had ended with a crash both had understood immediately, as they flew through the door to find Quinn in tears and the football players in a heap, shattered ceramic around them.

He was still seated forward, not looking at her, his forearms resting on his thighs as he hunched his shoulders uncomfortably. He watched out of the corner of his eye as her hand slid over his bare forearm, her skin warm against his, too, before she took his hand as he had earlier. He reluctantly met her gaze, somehow knowing the question that was to fall from her tongue.

"Would you have kissed me? If they hadn't…?" She trailed off, and he pressed his lips together, as if that could keep the truth out.

"No. I wouldn't have." Rachel studied his face a moment, before unlacing their fingers and pulling back. Her movement brought his attention to her front, and the reality that she was in her underwear in front of him sank back in. He suppressed the urge to pace, knowing his action would be a dead giveaway.

"You're a liar, Will." It felt wrong, now, to have her calling him by his name, when she was so close to breaking all of their other barriers. Three years without her, and he thought it would be safe, safer to break this one, but now he realized it may have been a fatal mistake, that invitation.

He chuckled, trying to play it off, but as he stood up, she asked, "Did you even realize that you started to touch me more after that?" He couldn't stop moving at that, couldn't let her know that _yes_, _of course_ he knew, how he'd tried to stop himself but the feel of her under his hand had become an addiction he was too weak to fight. He walked around the back of the couch to the refrigerator, grateful to find bottles of water as he berated himself for thinking he'd been so subtle, thinking he'd kept it appropriate.

As he drank, he kept his back to her, though he could hear her shifting, her bare skin moving against the couch as she turned to talk at his back. "You brushed my hair back one day in your office."

He took a long drink. "You held my hand at Sectionals. Your fingers were so warm against mine."

"Rachel…" It was a warning and a plea, but he had to grant it was also an admission of guilt, just a little.

"You'd rest your hands on my waist, my back." He thought he heard her standing up, and he wondered where this boldness was coming from after she'd been so meek in front of the other men in the club. "I remember the feel of your breath on my neck, the way you stood just a little closer to me than anyone else."

He thought he could hear her talking, still, completing the list of his crimes, and he started to think that maybe she'd always been bolder with him because she knew that one day he would cave for her; that maybe she saw his weakness and knew he wouldn't be able to refuse her forever.

A shiver ran up his spine as he drained the bottle, and he felt her voice against the damp skin of his neck. He wondered if maybe she had the heels on, how she could be that tall, until he realized that he was bent forward, leaning against the wall as he dropped the bottle.

She was telling him everything he'd done wrong, telling him all of his moments of weakness, and there were too many, so many, and he broke. "You smelled so good, Rachel, felt so good." He turned then, thinking that maybe she would see the anguish in his eyes and take pity on him, stop pushing him, but he also thought she might kiss him, and finally relieve this pressure that had been building in his chest for years now.

Her eyes were wide, watching him, and her mouth was open, her chest moving as she took slow, deep breaths. "I tried, I tried so hard to stop, you have to believe me," he had tried, and he thought that if she forgave him, maybe he could move on, make things work with someone, with Emma, with Holly, with anyone.

He'd managed to stop constantly thinking about her for years without her; it was only under her knowing looks that he fell apart again, but it didn't feel like it had when he fell apart with the others, with Emma. It wasn't sadness and frustration and anger, it wasn't the same sense of failure and loss that it had been with them.

He stepped forward, his thumb brushing the same cheek he'd brushed years ago, and felt the same rush as he broke; the freedom, the surge of oxygen he sucked into his lungs as he shed this old skin, this new him lighter, ready for victory.

She smiled at him, a real smile as her eyes fluttered shut when he dipped his head forward, breathing hard against her neck. She was breathing heavily, only punctuated by a quick gasp as he hesitated over her skin, moving back until their noses brushed.

"You would have kissed me," it wasn't a question anymore, hadn't ever really been one to begin with, but he breathed out, nodding, their foreheads resting together with his movement.

"I would have kissed you." And then he did, making up for all of those years of unfulfilled promises, of remembering the way she'd felt, even through all those animal sweaters and tights.

Their mouths together was those promises realized, and his hand came to rest on her neck, hers pressing against his chest at the same time she was pulling him closer. She was moving them back to the chair, back to their previous positions, and he wanted to refuse but he also wanted to see how this was going to end.

Her hand gently pressed on his chest and he sat down, his eyes stinging at the force of the feelings coursing through him. Will took a deep breath as she stood back, mirroring her stance earlier. This time, however, Will looked at her, openly taking in her long legs, the curve of her hips, her flat stomach, her full breasts, her elegant neck. He gulped, watching as she leaned over, again, and he suddenly wondered how many dances she could have given in a week and a half.

He watched as she opened her mouth, about to say something, but he put his hands on her hips and pulled her to him, until she had to put her hands on either side of his head, their bodies separated by no more than a few inches. She smiled, then, and he left his hands on her, realizing that this might be the longest he'd been able to touch her, ever. The thought was powerful, and he felt his fingers digging in just a little, making sure it was her flesh under his.

Her hair was wild around her face, and he wanted to brush it back, but he didn't want to let go of her, either. Her arms were bracketed around his head, and her face was right over his. Smelling the mint again, he felt his eyes flutter closed before he opened them again.

She was watching his lips when he looked at her, and he felt her arms move closer to him. "Do you have any idea how often I went home ready to scream?" She leaned forward and he followed the movement of her hips and she rested her weight on her forearms, her hands linking together behind his head.

He was breathing heavily, but he wanted to let her finish, hear from her how it was just as much of a struggle for her to remain strong that it was for him. "My skin vibrating as I remembered the way your fingers touched mine, the way your chest felt against my back, strong and solid and like you couldn't bear to leave those inches between us."

"I couldn't." He hadn't meant to say it and her face registered the same surprise at his admission. But he met her eyes and didn't back down, even when she let her front drop down closer, resting softly against him as she eliminated that space he so hated.

"I couldn't either. But you were so—" he winced, afraid of the adjective she was about to slice him with, "strong." Their faces were only inches apart, and he slid his hands from her hips to her lower back, resting at the base of her spine. "You never gave in, never touched me like I wanted you to, thought you one day might." He moved his head forward, brushing their lips together and he felt her hips roll forward, over his, grinding down onto his cock, still beneath the uncomfortable denim.

He jerked his head back when he slid his hand over the top of her ass, the lace soft under his palm. Watching her eyes, he began to trail his fingertips up her spine, the way he'd wanted to all night, the way he wanted to for years. His words were as slow as his movements, and he smirked when her eyes fluttered closed, "You never gave up, though, did you, Rachel? You'd show up in those damn skirts that never got longer, and those heels that kept getting bigger, and those shirts that only got tighter."

Her brow was furrowing in concentration as he reached the clasp on her bra, only pausing a moment to check her face as he unclasped it. Her thighs spread when it was opened, and she leaned back, watching him as she straddled his waist, her back arching when he dragged the straps down her arms and off.

He put his hands on her shoulder blades and sat up, keeping her from falling back as he leaned to her stomach, kissing the skin he knew would be so smooth there. Her small fingers were threading through his hair and he was murmuring against her skin, placing sporadic kisses, his tongue sneaking out to taste the olive stomach beneath him.

"You were killing me," he was offering her something, more than he thought he could, more than he thought he wanted to. But she was under him _finally_, and he decided this was a fair trade, his honesty for hers. "Killing me, because I had a girlfriend that I'd tried to have for years," he pulled back, looked up at her and caught her eyes flaring, and he realized that maybe he was discovering how deep these feelings ran at the same time she was, discovering them as they left his tongue and ghosted across her skin.

She was watching him when he reached her chest, and he stop tasting her to finish the thought, the admission he was unaware he had; "Killing me because even as I was sliding into her it was your legs around me, no matter how much I tried to stop."

She gasped as he took her right breast in his mouth, his tongue flat against her nipple as he realized what he'd told her. The message felt crude and wrong, like a betrayal of Emma, a woman he would always love, no matter how miserably they failed. But for all that love, he also blamed her, hated her for them not working, for her no longer looking at him like she had in the beginning, like Rachel was looking at him right now.

He was kissing up her neck, nearing her mouth again, and the thoughts, his words, felt like a punishment for Emma, but a catharsis for him, so he covered Rachel's mouth with his and smiled when her lips parted for him.

Rachel took the chance to push him back into the chair, pulling at his t-shirt and groaning at the loss of him when he let her lips go to take it off. Before he could reach for her again she was standing, sliding off that impossibly small thong and dropping it to the floor before she went for his belt, tugging it open and pulling at the material.

Both seemed to be done talking as Rachel eased the material over his cock and past his knees to rest on the floor around his feet. Smiling again, Rachel turned around, sitting on his lap as she'd one earlier, this time sans audience. As she settled against him, he brushed her hair back, sliding it over her right shoulder so he could press gentle kisses to the spot behind her ear.

He could feel her wet heat against his shaft and as she shifted forward he closed his eyes and opened his mouth, just pressing against the back of her neck as he breathed slowly. He could feel a thin sheen of sweat on her lower back and he let his fingers dance against the heated flesh as she took his cock in her hand and leaned forward, guiding him inside her.

He exhaled sharply at the feel of being inside her, and the _finally_ that echoed through his brain. Rachel's hands rested on his thighs under her as she moved forward, a moan breaking the silence as Will wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her back, until she was leaning against him the way she had been just over an hour ago.

The angle was something he'd never experienced before, but the feel of her pressed so tightly to him was worth the effort of lifting his hips up. She was rolling down against him, her head tilted away from on his shoulder. He watched as she gasped and bit her lip, her hand falling in front of her to press against her clit.

"Oh, God," he moaned, before rolling his head back and closing his eyes. He thrust his hips up again, before opening his eyes and reaching for her hand, threading his fingers through hers before reaching his other hand to her cheek. "Rach, honey, look at me," he bit out, and momentarily lost his rhythm when she rolled her head towards him, looking him in the eye.

He'd never seen brown look so much like black, and he kissed her again, their hands moving together over her sensitive flesh. He was barely moving inside of her, but when the hand not laced with his came up to cover his on her cheek, he smiled against her at the feel of her small fingers parting his fingers in the same fashion his had.

"Please, Will, don't stop," and he realized that she was jerking on top of him, trying to create some friction again, and he doubled his efforts.

"Never," he gasped and pressed his nose to her cheek, breathing in the scent of her hair, the silky strands smooth against his heated flesh. "Come," he was shaking, trying to speak but the closer he got to the edge the less he could focus on his own words.

"I am, I'm so close," and she moved their hands faster, not letting go of him.

He shook his head against her cheek, pressing a kiss there. "No, God, come back," he was desperate, asking her like this, but he needed her to agree, to tell him that this could work, that they were fitting together like he'd wanted for a reason, that there was something more to this.

"Hmmm?" She was moaning but she was also trying to figure out what he was telling her, so he moved his hand with hers from her clit, resting it cruelly above on her stomach. "Will? I just, I need," and he was kissing her again, stopping her from finishing her thought, from finishing anything.

He pulled back, waiting for her to open her eyes, waiting for her to look at him. Her hips stopped moving and he watched her long lashes rise, her eyes just as dark as he'd seen them a minute ago. "Why, Will, why did you stop?"

And he was thinking that it might have been her saying his name again, or he was going to ask her anyway, but he choked out, "I need, I need you to come back with me. For me."

Her chest heaved and she blinked slowly, as if she wasn't understanding him, so he kissed her again, desperately. When he pulled back, he added, "I can't leave you, I can't, not for someone else to watch you, to touch you," and he realized he sounded like a caveman, but he couldn't argue with himself that he was wrong, so he just squeezed the hand he was holding.

She hadn't said anything, not since he'd revealed the last part of himself that was secret, and he tried not to focus on the fluttering of her muscles around his cock as her eyes dropped shut. "Will," and he knew she was going to fight him, she always fought him, so he begged, he pressed his mouth to hers and he begged, until she squeezed the hand she was holding. "Yes, God, I'll come with you," and he smiled against her mouth as he felt her do the same.

He slid their hands back and felt how close she was, as he thought about her words and how close he was, too. There wasn't a lot of friction between them, but he decided that wasn't what this was about; this was about her words, about coming together, and the press of her back against him was just that.

He guided her hand faster as he thought about her coming back with him, coming home. With that thought he fell over the edge, squeezing her hand as she squeezed his when she broke the edge of her own orgasm.

His face was pressed hard into her hair, and he let out a shuddering breath at the feelings still coursing through him. Rachel rolled her head to look at him and he pulled back to look at her face. She was smiling, a real, mega-watt Rachel Berry smile, and he realized she was the victory he was missing.

He smiled back, and she dropped his hand when he dropped hers. She leaned forward and he immediately missed the warmth of her, despite the feverish temperature of his skin. She sat with her back to him, that same enticing curve of her spine in front of him.

He knew they needed to get out of there, that he needed her to quit before she could change her mind when she started to think about the reactions she would have to face in Lima. Will traced her spine gently until she looked at him, and he realized how absolutely gorgeous she was as he caught the profile of her smile.

_This_, he thought, was the family he'd missed, the feeling of being with her, of _fitting_. He brushed her hair back over one shoulder and she grabbed his wrist, looking at his watch. The smile fell from her lips as she reached for her bra, sliding it on quickly and clasping it.

Will watched as she slid on her thong, and he smiled when she giggled, "What?"

"You're beautiful, Rachel." It wasn't the end of what he wanted to tell her, but it was a start, and he stood, too, pulling up his boxers and jeans. She turned to him once he had slid the t-shirt back over his head, and he stepped forward, brushing his thumb over her lips with a soft smile, before pressing a soft, closed mouth kiss there.

Running his hand over her hair, he looked at her forehead before he whispered, "I've missed you, Rach."

"Me too, Will." Her voiced wavered and he ran his hand down her arm, taking her hand and leading her over to the couch where his jacket was.

"Put this on, and go get your things. I'm staying at a hotel a few blocks away. I'll meet you outside, OK, and I'll drive you home." She was nodding, her eyes damp, and he took her chin in his hands. "No one will blame you for coming home. Everyone will be thrilled to see you again." She smiled softly and kissed him, before squeezing his forearm and slipping past him, as she slid on his jacket.

The door to the room closed and Will sighed. The emotional nature of the past few hours was sinking in, and all he wanted to do was grab Rachel and get out of there, get her packed and get her home. As he left the room, he scanned the club for her, hoping she'd move quickly. He passed the bartender and bouncer with a nod, before stepping back into the cool November air.

Will slid his hands into his pockets and closed his eyes, a smile on his face as he realized how light he felt, the feelings he'd pushed down for years now free. He leaned against the wall of the building, turning quickly when he saw the door open.

His breath caught as she stepped out, her hair smoothed down, but her lips still red and swollen from his kisses. Her tennis shoes were squeaky on the sidewalk, and her jeans were old, faded and torn, but her sweatshirt looked new. He wondered how much, exactly, she'd changed in three years.

She tucked her purse tighter to her body and smiled at him, and he realized she couldn't have changed that much. Will took his jacket from her hand and he slipped it on, before opening his hand to her. Her smile softened as she took it, and he pulled her closer to him. As he led her down the street to his hotel, she mumbled, "This is weird," with a small laugh.

He waited until she met his eyes, and he decided that maybe he should listen to Shannon more often. He shook his head and squeezed her hand. "It's just new."


End file.
